


First Aid

by Jo (jmathieson)



Series: Tangents and Intersections ~ Kink Bingo 2013 [57]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, Gunshot Wounds, Guro, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton, combat medic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Aid

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Bingo Round Six (2013) ~ Guro

The jeep bounced over something that may have been a pothole, or may have been a body. In the passenger seat, Phil made a noise.

"Sorry. They got the headlights. I can't see a fucking thing. Just hang in there, Phil."

The mission had gone bad. There had been a firefight. The other half of the team was in another jeep, and Phil had been hit while trying to draw the bad guys' fire away from them. He had been successful, and the second jeep had peeled off into the darkness. Theirs had been hit by a hail of bullets before Clint and Phil had managed to shoot out the tires of the SUV following them. It had rolled and caught fire behind them, and now Clint was peering through the darkness, looking for somewhere, anywhere that would provide a little shelter in case there were any more bad guys coming. 

He didn't know how bad Phil was hurt and Phil wasn't telling him. Cold fear gripped him as he strained his eyes through the moonless night, swerving to avoid cactuses and trying not to hit potholes or ditches. He saw a shape, squarish and black against the sky to his left and headed towards it, steering with one hand, pointing an automatic rifle with the other. It was a rundown barn of some sort, and looked long deserted. Clint stopped the jeep and turned it off. The night was suddenly silent.

"Phil, can you hold on here for just a minute while I check that it's safe?"

"Yes." Phil's voice sounded strong enough, but Clint knew what his partner could do on willpower and adrenaline if he needed to.

"You have a gun?"

"Yes. Four bullets left in this clip." Trust Phil to have counted shots in the middle of a firefight while wounded.

"OK. Sit tight. I'll be right back."

Clint climbed out of the jeep and walked silently around the building. He found a door, eased it open. The inside was dark, but he could see that it was practically empty except for a large, rusted truck and a couple of old oil barrels. 

'Best cover for miles,' Clint thought and headed back to the jeep. He went right around to Phil's side and reached in to unbuckle his seatbelt. 

"Looks good, there's a big old truck for cover and not much else. We'll be good here until evac can get to us."

"Take the first aid kit," Phil said, moving very slowly to swing his legs out of the vehicle, trying to move his upper body as little as possible, his mouth set in a hard line of pain.

"Got it, and the radio, and some water. Here, put your arm around me."

Clint had grabbed the gear out of the back of the jeep, but he still had a gun in his other hand. Phil had one good arm, and a gun in that hand. Clint ducked under Phil's arm to help him walk, and when Phil nearly clocked him in the jaw with his handgun, Clint asked,

"How bad is it Phil?"

"Not sure yet. Need to see it."

The fear in Clint's belly swelled another notch and he moved them as quickly as Phil was able to go. He got them into the building and Phil settled against the large, flat front tire of the truck. Then Clint opened up the first aid kit and got to work.

He handed Phil a small flashlight and picked up the bandage scissors.

"I'm going to need both hands. Sorry about your jacket."

"Already ruined anyway," said Phil. "S'got a hole in it."

Phil's words were a little slurred and Clint clamped down on his panic.

'He's OK. If he's cracking jokes, he's OK. He's going to be fine.'

Clint cut away the left side of Phil's suit jacket. 

"How much do you like this tie?" Clint asked, trying to go for a light tone and missing by about half-a-mile.

"Do what you need to do," Phil said, his words clear but his voice a little fainter.

"Stay with me Phil," Clint said, cutting through the tie rather than wasting precious seconds untying it. He was trying to ignore just how much blood there was. It had soaked the side of Phil's shirt completely, and the fabric was sticking wetly to Phil's chest and Clint cut it away, revealing the wound. 

"OK, pass me the flashlight." Clint's field first aid training ran through his head as he looked at the bullet wound. It was high on Phil's shoulder, which was good. And there were no bubbles, which was very good. It meant Phil didn't have a punctured lung. Blood was steadily trickling out of the wound, which was less good, but shouldn't be too difficult to deal with.

"Phil, are you hit anywhere else?"

"Don't think so," Phil said. Paused for breath. Winced as he breathed in, "Just the shoulder." 

Clint quickly shone the light over the rest of Phil's body, patting him down to feel for any other wetness at the same time. He found a damp patch on Phil's abdomen, the front of his pants were soaked through on the left side as well, and Clint swallowed.

"Are you sure you didn't get hit here too?" he asked, gently probing with his fingers.

"S'from my shoulder," Phil said, starting to mumble again. "You need to stop the bleeding."

"That's all blood from your shoulder. Jesus, Phil. OK, I'm on it." Clint started to rummage through the first aid kit for dressings.

"Clint." Phil put his good hand on Clint's arm.

Clint stopped and turned to look at Phil's face which he now realized was several shades paler than it should be.

"You need to get the bullet out."

"What? No! That can wait until you're in medical. As soon as I get a dressing on your shoulder I'm going to call for evac and the chopper'll be here and..."

Phil was shaking his head.

"The bullet is moving every time I breathe. The wound can't clot so the bleeding won't stop. I'm losing too much blood. You need to call for evac and then you need to get the bullet out." Phil's voice was forceful and commanding, but then he closed his eyes.

"Phil!" Clint managed to keep the panic out of his voice, just, and Phil's eyes fluttered back open. Phil had been an Army Ranger in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Somalia. He knew about bullet wounds. He knew about blood loss. If he said... 

"OK, Phil. I'll do exactly what you said. Just hang in there."

Clint picked up the radio and sent a terse coded message that translated to "Agent down. Request immediate medical evac," and hit the emergency locator beacon. Then he searched through the first aid kit.

"There's nothing here I can use to take out the bullet, Phil," Clint said, this time not managing to keep the fear out of his voice.

"You'll have to dig it out with your finger."

Clint could hear the effort that Phil was putting into speaking clearly.

"OK. Yeah. OK." Clint reached for the medical gloves in the kit, but Phil said, 

"Don't."

"What? Why not?"

"Too slippery."

"You know this from experience?"

"Yes. Remember Jenkins?"

Clint remembered. Remembered holding a wound open with his fingers so that Phil could reach in to pull out a piece of shrapnel. 

"OK." Clint twisted the cap off a bottle of antiseptic and poured some of it over his hands. "Here we go."

Clint shone the flashlight on Phil's shoulder, looking at the wet, red hole and the trickle of blood that was seeping steadily from the wound. He took a deep breath, and then started to very gently and very carefully slide the tip of his finger into the bullet hole. 

Phil made a noise through clamped teeth.

"Sorry."

"It's going to hurt like a motherfucker no matter what. Just do it."

"OK."

Clint eased his finger in a little further and something, some kind of sense memory of tight warm wetness hit him. For a second he wasn't sliding his finger into a bloody bullet hole but into Phil's well-lubed ass. 

Clint stopped, shook his head to clear it, and blew out a breath.

"Clint?"

"I'm OK. It's just that..." he barked out a short, only slightly hysterical laugh. "I'm just. I know I shouldn't be thinking this. But... you know what this reminds me of? Shit. Sorry. I'm OK. I can do this."

Clint blew out his breath, and eased his finger in as far as the first knuckle. The image wouldn't leave him, though, and it didn't help that sticking his finger into a bullet hole in Phil's chest felt pretty much exactly like sticking his finger into Phil's ass. To his horror, Clint's dick twitched.

"Shit. Fuck."

"Clint?"

"I'm sorry, Phil, I know you need me to do this. I need to be able to do this."

"Clint. It's OK."

"Fuck. No, it's not. Pretty sure it's not OK to get a hard-on from putting your finger into your partner's bleeding bullet wound."

Phil raised his good hand to Clint's face, and slid it along his jaw to the back of his neck. His grip was surprisingly strong as he pulled Clint towards him, and in for a hard, demanding kiss.

Phil released him, and Clint, reeling from fear and arousal, realized that his finger was deeper in Phil's chest, and he was fully, almost painfully hard.

"Straddle me."

"What?"

"Do it," Phil growled.

"This is fucked up." 

"It is what it is. I love you Clint."

Clint looked at Phil, pale in the light of the small flashlight. Tried not to think about what would happen if he didn't do this. What would happen if he couldn't get the bullet out, couldn't stop the bleeding. Clint swung his knee over Phil's legs and settled gently onto his lap.

"Love you Phil," gasped Clint, grinding his hard cock against Phil's groin as he eased his finger further into the hole. Phil gasped but before Clint could stop or pull out, Phil pulled him down again, kissing him and then biting Clint's lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Don't stop." It was an order, and Clint was going to follow or die trying. His world narrowed to Phil's hand holding him steadily by the back of the neck, grounding him; the slow, hot grind of his cock against Phil's pelvis; and the progress of his finger as it slid deeper and deeper into the warm, wet hole in Phil's shoulder. 

Clint's finger touched the bullet. Phil screamed. Clint froze. Phil gasped for breath.

"You need to do it. You need to get it out now." Phil said, "I'll probably scream again. Sorry."

"Bite me."

"What?"

"This is already completely fucked up, and I don't have a stick to put between your teeth, so bite me while I do this."

"Yeah. OK. I might pass out."

"I know what to do."

"OK. Love you."

"Love you too. Ready?"

Phil nodded, and tipped his head forward until his lips were touching Clint's neck at the join of his shoulder. Phil kissed him once, softly, then took skin and muscle between his teeth.

Clint took a breath, and then dug his finger deeper into the wound, pushing it around and past the bullet so that he could draw it out. Pain seared though him as Phil bit hard into his shoulder but he didn't flinch, didn't pause. Phil's body jerked, and Clint dropped the flashlight and wrapped his free arm around Phil's back, holding him as tightly he could. He was working entirely by feel now, anyway. 

Clint got his finger around the flattened nose of the bullet and started to slowly, carefully pull back out. The resistance was strong, because now he was forcing the hole wider around both his finger and the bullet. Phil gasped and bit into his shoulder again, and as well as the pain, Clint could feel hot tears on his neck.

"Almost there, Phil," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Just another little bit..." Clint wanted to ease up, to slow down, to try to somehow make it hurt less, but he knew the best thing to do was to get the bullet out as quickly as he could and get the wound packed with gauze to stop the bleeding. He pulled, carefully, willing his finger not to slip. 

Phil twitched against him and Clint held him tightly as he pulled the bullet out. It dropped from Phil's shoulder, landing somewhere between them. Clint didn't stop to look for it.

"Phil, Phil, are you with me? The bullet's out. I'm going to lay you down now and pack the wound." Phil wasn't responding, and Clint stamped down hard on his panic. He could hear rasping breath, and that was going to have to do until he had dealt with the bleeding. 

Clint lay Phil down on his back on the dirt floor of the barn, grabbed the flashlight he'd dropped earlier, and pulled dressings out of the kit. As he peeled the sterile wrapper off a small tight roll of gauze and stuffed it into the bullet hole, he was glad Phil wasn't conscious and feeling yet more pain. A large, thick square dressing went over the wound and Clint strapped it down with two long pieces of tape. Then he dug the reflective emergency blanket out of the kit. 

Stretching out on the ground beside Phil, he lay as close as he could and pulled the blanket over both of them. He put his hand on the gauze-covered wound applying pressure and helping to keep Phil warm.

His hard-on had started to subside while he was bandaging the wound, and the arousal he had felt earlier was gone. 'Some sort of weird panic adrenaline thing, probably,' he thought. 'We'll laugh about it one day: That time I wanted to fuck you while I was pulling a bullet out of your shoulder...' At least he hoped they would.

Clint tucked his head in closer to Phil's neck. He found Phil's pulse and put his lips to the faint proof that Phil was still alive pulsing weakly under his lips.

"I love you Phil, please don't die," he whispered, and then waited for the sound of the helicopters.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks always to my excellent editors t! and Shazrolane.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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